The Missing Tales of Winnie Breccan (summary, cover, and plot changed)
by Winnie Breccan
Summary: Rewrite "I've waited so long, but when you have time to think, you know that you have the best with you, and the little things don't seem as bad, even though you know the worst is to come." "Darling, they might have you, but I will come for you, even if my...intellect fails me..." SherlockOC not self insert "bitterness is a paralytic love is a much more powerful motivator..."
1. Chapter 1

Prologiue

6:30 A.M. Southern California, America

Her sight was fading, but Winnie kept looking at the persons standing around her. She was very familiar with them, as they were with her. But all she could remember was this, as her vision was very slowly fading to black. She felt a comforting presence next to her, and the sensation of being lightly shaken was becoming more noticeable. She then saw the face of a man; whose dark curly hair and piercing grey eyes were what she could only remember, day after day and in the sleepless nights. His eyes were wide, expression filled with worry for her, his hot breath showing in the icy wind as vapor. His eyes were refusing to release the unshed tears in the corners of them. She hated to see him cry, she knew he'd been through enough already.

The group around her closed in, as a man with blond hair leaned in. He tried to pull the much taller, dark haired man away, but he refused to go. He instead leaned over Winnie, the shaking stopping; it was too late. As she lifted her hand up to cup his cheek, the scene slowly changed to something entirely different. The taller darker one and she were in what seemed to be a messy apartment. She was sitting on a couch; legs crossed watching something on the television. The taller man was sitting at a table near the window, looking over some papers, and catching glances at her; her vision, still fading.

She looked over to him, their eyes meeting. The room faded away and replaced with a softly lit room, both of them twirling, him in a dark suit while she was in a white, elegant dress, the dance floor cleared for them; there eyes still never leaving each other. He led her across the room in strides, then spinning her around, her ball gown flaring. He gracefully transitioned the dance from a waltz to a slow dance. In step, she leaned on his chest as he rested his chin on her forehead. She closed her eyes, and felt like she was fading away.

The scene changed once again as she opened her eyes, she was in her dorm, but this time she was being chased. A man who was only a mere inch taller than her, with vacant eyes, was slowly approaching her as she backed away. She then was against the wall, as he came up to her he seemed to be telling her something, but all she could hear were muffled words; no emotion evident in his tone; her vision still fading to black.

The vacant eyes were now being filled with a dark crimson, the color of blood. As soon as his evil smirk contorted into a grin of pure insanity, she opened her eyes, and breathed deeply. Her heart filled with yearning for the literal man in her dreams was almost too much as she laid there; trying to keep the feeling of his piercing grey eyes on her. She closed her eyes, and tried to keep the mental picture alive, even just for a few more seconds.

She stayed a while before getting ready for the long, drawled out day of classes and pretending to care about people. She felt suffocated from the layers she was covered in and stripped her blankets off. Minutes later, she finally noticed the alarm going off. She sat up, her slim, warmed legs dangling over the edge of her bed, and turned off the alarm. She blinked and ran a few fingers through her long red hair.

'This days going to be different,' she determinedly thought, 'I'll see him one day, and that day is today.'

With the renewed determinations Winnie used to get through the day, she got up from her creaking mattress, and went to get ready. She actually felt more hopeful each day, knowing deep down somewhere they would both see each other once more. The peculiar thing was, they had never met, but he was not the least a stranger to her. He was her secret holder, and she was his As she dragged herself to the bathroom, Winnie thought of why she was the one to have these dreams. She knew of folklore where people had dreams of wanting a lover, but never really paid attention to it; folklore isn't real, but she knew hers were real. As she looked in the oval mirror just above her sink, she noticed her cheeks wee tear stained. Winnie washed her face and proceeded to get ready for the rest of the day, with her renewed reason to go on.

* * *

Chapter 1

2:30 P.M London, England

John Watson sat in the living room of 221B Baker Street, typing up a new entry on his blog while Sherlock was conducting experiments in the kitchen. It was an unusually normal day, and living with Sherlock you develop a new sense of normal. John could tell that Sherlock was becoming bored, as he almost finished all the experiments he planned to do once the case was finished. For the sake of the walls, he hoped another case would come. He seemed more distracted than bored, day after day.

Lately, he has realized that Sherlock has been acting strangely. He's actually going to sleep rather than staying up until an ungodly hour, even when a case was finished. He was not eating, but even though he hasn't much before, it was even less as the days progressed. He seemed more restless, and bothered by something that John knew he had no knowledge of. John knew Sherlock could take care of himself, and could handle almost anything that didn't have to do with emotion, but he was concerned for him, and Sherlock knew that but never said anything. John just didn't want it to be a danger night…the ones Mycroft warned him about…

Sherlock knew he wasn't okay, but he tried to go through his normal routine, if it weren't for his excessive dreaming. He usually never dreamed, but lately for the past eight or so years, Sherlock would have dreams about a young woman, with long fiery red hair and deep, dark brown eyes. He didn't let it bother him, but latel it's been more vivid, and mind altering. He felt a fondness for her, but felt this was childish, and tried to brush it off. But when he tried it grew more intense. All he could do was have dreams over and over again.

The thoughts of her would consume his mind daily, gnawing away at his sanity and perception of reality, and yet he kept it hidden. They were usually the same, but altered occasionally, only the minor details that no one would notice. But one thing that threw him off was how clear they were in the beginning. They had now been more faint, but not until last night. He had rarely dreamed, and never asked why. Some people would tell him it's because he's not human enough to dream. He brushed it off as a mere insult, but it still hurt he just didn't realize it. He was running out of interest in the current experiment he was working on, as his mind wandered to the girl again; her rich, dark brown eyes, with a long, fiery waterfall of hair to frame her delicate face. Every night he tried to take note of everything, but something always blocked him from retaining any information other than this, and that's what frustrated him. He slammed a few beakers down, but not hard enough to crack or break them.

He noticed John looked up from the sudden noise of glass hitting tile. He looked at Sherlock as to see what he would do next. He never once looked at him; instead Sherlock grabbed his coat and went out the door, without even a word uttered. He went to look out the window, and saw him walking brusquely down the street. John sighed heavily; trying to predict a time he would come home. It was only midafternoon; he would just have to wait to see what would unfold that night, or where he might go.

As the afternoon slowly transitioned to the rainy, cloudy evening, John decided to stay home for the evening, and do paper work for the clinics he was applying for. The last one let him go after he slept on the job and took the woman who hired him to a deadly Chinese circus. He told Sarah that it was never going to happen again, and he would do his best at the clinic to prove himself, but she let him go anyway.

While he was filling out the last application, Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, looking rather excited.

"John, there's a woman at the door here for you," she said pointing downstairs, "I told her you would be there in a minute. She said you knew why she was here?"

He knew it must have been Mycroft, and seeing the black car parked in front of the building confirmed his assumptions. He sighed, swearing under his breath, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and went on his way. The woman at the door, was no one other than Anthea, Mycroft's assistant. John actually didn't know who she really was to him, all he kew was she would pick John up when Mycroft wanted her to and take him to God knows where. John followed Anthea out to the car, the driver taking them wherever Mycroft was, the location unknown to him. For what seemed like hours, they finally arrived in another abandoned factory. Anthea led the way as usual, leaving to where Mycroft was. John walked into the large, damp smelling building, the abandoned equipment rusting, with broken windows pouring light in. As he walked through a couple of hallways, he saw Mycroft. Only this time he was not alone; another man was with him. He was standing two feet away from Mycroft, both of them at the center of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry i haven't updated for a while, but here's the second chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

"And one, and two, and three, and four…" The dance instructor said loudly enough for everyone to hear, voice clipped with authority. Many young girls in tights and leotards of different pastel shades were practicing their routine for the upcoming recital, legs stretched in the air with pink ribbon tying pointed ballet shoes at the end of each one. Winnie was really excited to get out of practice, since her boyfriend was picking her up. He said he wanted to tell her something important, and she was anxiously anticipating what that might be.

She was really happy with her boyfriend at the moment, but she felt like he didn't like her at all. Rumors were going around the university that she's just desperate for a boy attention because she went out with three other guys throughout the year. They all had two things in common: dark hair, gray eyes, and incredibly smart. She couldn't and hasn't told anyone that the reason she only dates guys with that certain hair color and eye color was that so she could get an idea, and maybe find out who it was that robbed her of her peace. And besides,

"Winifred," the instructor's harsh tone brought back her attention to her surroundings, "pay attention. We don't have time for daydreaming when you're trying to make your dream happen now. Now I want you to practice your solo performance, start here." She pointed with her toe at the center of the floor. Some of the girls narrowed their eyes at Winnie as she slowly walked from the mirrored wall to the center of the room. The solo performance was a highly desired part in the recitals: talent scouts from many highly acclaimed dance academies came to watch, looking for potential students.

She got into her starting pose as Mrs. Peters, the dance instructor, started playing Passacaglia by Secret Garden. She held her arms up above her body, in a half circle, and constantly moving on her pointed toes. Her mind entranced to the music; her arms lifted ever so gracefully. On tiptoe she moved from left to right, her body then spinning in tiny circles. on her last spin she lifted her left leg high in the air, still on tiptoe. She then gracefully and slowly turned her body and made a full circle, then dropped her leg back to return to her starting position.

She leapt to the left, arms extending slowly to the sides as she did. She left her arms up, and bent forward, as if bowing her arms extending to the sides. She then walked on tiptoe quickly to the right side of the room and raised her right leg in the air. She then slowly moved in a circle, until she leapt back to the center of the stage, as if to prove Grace was her middle name. she then put her right leg on her left leg, as if in a four figure. Winnie then spun herself swiftly, pirouetting in endless circles.

She heard some of the girls snickering, as if she was doing horrible. She knew it was because they started the rumors that have started to slowly ruin her reputation. They were envious that she got the solo performance, and were trying to have her mess up. It didn't bother her, but the teacher must have noticed it and hushed them quietly. Because of this, she stumbled a bit, lost her balance and tripped.

Mrs. Peters sighed, and stopped the song playing on the tiny navy blue CD player. Winnie got herself up and looked over at the other dancers; they were sneering at her, and the way they looked made their faces ten times uglier, with pointed noses, and stares filled with hatred. She looked away quickly and paid attention as Mrs. Peters walked over to her.

"Winifred," her tone was dismissive, as if what she was going to say next she shouldn't argue to, "you are to meet me after class, so we can practice you performance," she glanced at the other girls who were now pretending mind their own business, "without unnecessary distraction.."

Winnie sighed, her boyfriend would have to wait. Dance came first, is what she always promised her guardian Timothy, who she nicknamed Jeeves when she was younger, or rather, he said it and the name stuck. He practically bent over backwards for her. he became her guardian when she was five, when the horrible incident that killed her parents occurred…she still wished that never happened; but if it weren't for that, she would have never met him or her family guardian either…

"Yes Mrs. Peters." She said with a sigh of defeat. Mrs. Peters then faced the other girls, clearly not happy with them.

"I expect you to be courteous to each other, now each of you must do 35 crunches and three splits before you leave. The group of girls groaned, and went to carry out their punishment. Winnie walked to her gym bag and got her iPhone out. She texted her boyfriend:

"Hey, practice is going to be running late. I would say about and hour. The bitches were at it again lol –WB"

He responded back almost immediately:

"Ok that's cool. I don't get off work until 5 anyway. So maybe we can go out to dinner later? –JU"

She smiled at her phone:

"Okay, sounds good. I'll have to stop at my dorm first to get clothes. You wouldn't want me going out in my workout clothes lol –WB"

Before she could read his response, she tossed her phone into the gym bag, and went to the wooden railing to stretch. She couldn't help smiling; her life was amazing to her so far, considering all the shit she went though as a child. Maybe being an adult would really be different; maybe she could be happy…

* * *

"Good evening, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said walking towards John, "It has been a while since we've talked. How is my younger brother, if I may ask?"

Watson was reluctant to talk about Sherlock in front of the stranger, not knowing if he was trustworthy or not. What really unsettled the doctor was the shape of his eyes, almost like cat's eyes. They had the effect of almost glowing, the color of bronze on gold. Watson looked at Mycroft, waiting for an explanation. Mycroft smiled wryly and introduced him.

"Not to worry John, my friend Shanahan is a very trustworthy colleague of mine, so you can speak freely of Sherlock without worrying of Moriarty here." He walked towards him, spinning his umbrella and looking around the spacious building. By Shanahan's feet was an old bag, that seemed to be made out of canvas; this piqued the curiousity, and uneasiness, that John had. Shanahan stayed where he was, simply surveying the doctor in front of him. If what Mycroft said was true, he would have to take his word that Doctor Watson was trustworthy.

"Well," John started reluctantly, "he's not sleeping, or eating. He seems frustrated and bothered by something that I don't know about, and he won't tell me off. He's very distracted." When he finished, Mycroft could see and hear the worry in his voice and facial features.

Shanahan took into account the concern he showed for his friend. From what Mycroft told him, he was awfully quick to be loyal, and seemed to be able to handle even the unusual habits of Sherlock. Maybe this was indeed the place he was looking for, where she could be safe…

Shanahan stepped forward, and produced a folder from his jacket. It was a Manila folder, which was worn with age and from being opened frequently. Numerous paperclips lined the top of the folder, which John assumed held important papers in place. Shanahan stopped in front of him, handing him the folder.

"Doctor Watson," he spoke with an Irish accent, "I have the answers as to why your friend Sherlock Holmes is acting such out of character. As a-" he took a moment to find the proper word, "client of mine is also having the same exact problem."

Watson opened the Manila folder, to see paperwork and photos of a young girl with red hair, and a pretty one at that; his eyebrows went up when he saw her picture. She had a heart shaped face with a small, roundish nose. She also had a small mouth with thin eyebrows and big brown eyes that perfectly fit her face, and beautiful, long red hair.

"I'm sure you've seen her somewhere, I assume?" Shanahan asked, a hint of amusement evident in his looked at him, with surprise on his face, before regaining composure as to not look stupid.

"Actually no, I haven't…" Watson said, looking at Mycroft and Shanahan, "and what does this have to do with Sherlock, exactly?"

Shanahan and Mycroft look at one another with hesitancy. Shanahan was the first to speak up, as he looked down to the folder, then made eye contact with the Army Doctor.

"We, Doctor Watson, are fairly sure these two are connected, and by connected we mean as in psychically linked."

John looked at them, his mouth opened and eyebrow raised, bemused. He laughed softly, and looked at Shanahnan. Mycroft and the Irish man looked at him with serious faces, and John's face fell.

"You're not actually serious are you?" he looked over at Mycroft, "Psychics and- and this stuff isn't real. It's just crap telly and a few card tricks, that's all it-"

"Doctor Watson, you know I am not a man for humor." Mycroft looked at him seriousness evident in the eye contact he held with him. Watson sighed and looked down defeated before giving Shanahan eye contact, "All right, let me hear it."

Shanahan smirked, "Why not tell you, when I can show you." A Cheshire cat grin was evident on his face, but his teeth were barely visible. This unnerved Watson, but he tried to not let it show. Shanahan bent down and took something out of his bag of tricks. Shanahan could feel another presence, the one he was hoping for, and looked down to the entrance that was behind the Army Doctor. Shanahan pulled out yet another file, and gave it to Watson. It seemed to be papers from medical research, from both the woman and Sherlock; they were from therapy sessions. Watson wouldn't have guessed Sherlock ever went to therapy, but it was from his teen years, and Mycroft or his parents probably forced him to go.

They both had the same dream; the dates on the reports were exactly 3 years apart. They were almost 5 years apart, Sherlock being older than her. Watson started to remember Sherlock mentioning something like this once. A couple of weeks ago, Watson asked Sherlock if he ever had a relationship or knew any other women besides Molly and…Irene; and he spoke mysteriously and Watson remembered the look he had in his eyes: the hope flickering, then dwindling, his lips in a smirk; his face falling as he spoke. He said to Watson, _"Love is for those who dream hopelessly, hopeless romantics…and I for have no time for such things; besides, who would want me for a partner in a relationship?"_

Mycroft and Shanahan looked at John, waiting for his response. Mycroft could tell that John understood what they were talking about now. Shanahan observed John as he looked at the files, and saw realization dawning on his face. Shanahan smirk, his cat eyes wide with excitement. Mycroft noticed this, and rolled his eyes at Shanahan who just smirked in response. Watson looked up at Shanahan.

"I actually understand what you're talking about now, yeah." Watson said, making Shanahan grin from ear to ear like a five year old, "He, um actually mentioned something like this, but vaguely and I can only assume that this girl is the same one he dreamt of, and him the one she dreamt of?"

Mycroft nodded, "Yes John, and we need to have them meet, or the worst would befall on both of them. But the only problem is…" he sighed, looking out the window, "she's in America…"


End file.
